A reasonable man
by Simplysheree
Summary: Reasonable men run from battle, good soldiers run towards. With the blight spreading, the grey wardens failing and the world drowning in tainted and pure blood alike, soon Alistair will find out which he is. Rated M for language and content, Alistair and O/C female warden.
1. Mettle and Metal

The campfire crackled in the frigid air, Ostagar stood still, the tension was a palpable; anxiety slick and oily on the night breeze. Only the glimmering of fires told of it's existence. In the light of the dawning sun, four figures exited the fortified camp: two in glittering metal armour, one in heavy leather and the last trailing behind in flimsy leather trousers and a vest which failed to cover her midriff. The only suggestion that she was a warrior being the heavy, reinforced leather that covered the entirety of one arm and the two well worn, notched hatchets at her side.

Stopping to stare at the sky after roughly an hours walk, she seemed to ignore her companions, flustering the leader of the group, whose nervous nature was displayed clearly on his handsome features, Alistair stooped and jogged back to meet her

"Excuse me…Miss? We need to move on if we're to collect what we-"

"Sh." She raised a hand that would have been judged foreign to the rest of her body by anyone, if not for its clear attachment to her arm. Alistair had found her strange when Duncan brought her to him, but with every observation, he found her even more so. Her dress suggested a flirtatious woman who liked male attention, her fortified shoulder plates and parrying armour on the left arm noted her to be a swordswoman. The axes were…worrying.

But this.

He looked at her hand, despite himself: even though she was clearly a young woman (perhaps twenty-two at the oldest) her hands had clearly seen hard use. They were calloused, scarred and slightly swollen at the knuckles, beginning to develop a permanently clenched look, much like the hands of old warriors. As if she had been fighting as long as she had been walking.

"I must insist we move on. The kocari wilds are no-"

"Sh." She tilted her strangely painted face to the side, ear raised, nose lifted as if she were smelling the air, "We should ready." her accent was strange, lilting, her voice high and feminine, but cold.

"Ready?" He felt his brows crease,

"For battle." her voice was a whisper, "But discreet like. They can see us. Hear us."

For one so young, she seemed at ease with authority and, despite himself, he reached for his weapon. Discreetly.

"What do you suggest, then?"

"A rational man runs from battle." She smiled, "A good soldier runs to it. Which are you, mage-hunter?"

He had no time to reply as a genlock hurtled from the bushes, startling Ser Jory and Davith, a laugh rang out,

"A fight, then. Come on you motherfuckin' -" The rest of her words were drowned in the screech of steel. As the dust settled, Alistair found himself staring; she stood over a Hurlock, struggling to drag an axe from its skull, one foot plated on its chest, smothered in fresh blood. Grinning like a madwoman. She turned to the three men,

"Good blood, ey?" Her accent thickened, "Good to fight somethin' I know. Gotta say that these bastards are even uglier down here." her eyes narrowed under the paint and gore, "You frightened, Warden?" Alistair raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed, she chortled, "Ey, no worries. I aint cock measuring, just checkin' the mettle o' my company. My life depends as much on your mettle as my metal." She waved her axe to emphasis the different meaning.

"Always got told you gotta have fear to have courage. Bravery is a measurement of heart and skill…" She clucked her tongue, "And lunacy. Who else'd run into a shield wall. Ey? Reckon your got yer Sh- Darkspawn blood now, though."

Davith grinned, Jory looked baffled and, in all honesty, Alistair couldn't blame him; in the time since Duncan had brought her, she had barley said two words, they didn't even know her name. Now she was babbling in a strange accent in confusing patterns with a shit-eating grin on her face,

"Makers mercy." Alistair laughed, "That we do. Perhaps we can move onwards without incident. Perhaps now that you're talkative we can make, brief, introductions?"

"Aye. Reckon we can. Names Amaliessia, most people call me Ami. My friends call me Lessa." She extended a hand which was gripped quickly by Davith,

"Davith. What'd your enemies call you then?" He laughed, pleased at his own wit, not expecting the answer,

"Bitch, whore. But mostly cunt features for some reason. Maybe because I'm a woman?" Her grin widened as quickly as Daviths fled, "I'm kidding boy, I don't know what my enemies call me and I don't care to."

Jory deigned not to shake her hand,

"Ser Jory. Knight of redcliff." He bowed slightly, Alistair cringed; Jory was a pompous, prudish ass, he stepped forward,

"Alistair." She gripped his hand in a surprisingly tight grasp, her eyes locked onto his firmly as if she were once again testing his 'mettle'. They stared for a moment, something fizzing between them for only a moment as Alistair realised that, surprisingly, she was beautiful, then she smirked, nodding approvingly,

"I reckon you've got more bones than some would say, Alistair of the wardens. I look forward to travelling with you."

"You do?" he felt a flush of pleasure and pride at such a small thing, albeit from such a clearly capable, if not powerful woman, "Huh, that's a switch." He grinned wryly, "Lets move on."

The ruined warden watch tower was still as the grave, the small party seemed to draw together as they passed under the crumbling arch. Alistair strode purposefully to the chest that stood alone amongst the rubble, pulling back the lid with a flourish before a melodic voice broke the implied sanctity of the place,

"Well, well, what have we here?" A young, beautiful woman watched them with hostile eyes as she prowled forwards, "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amongst the remains of a corpse who's bones were long since cleaned. Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey? Well which are you?" The woman shifted, smiling like a hungry predator as Alistair returned defensively to the group,

"I have watched your progress for some time, where do they go? I wonder. Why are they here? And now you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long." She tilted her head quizzically, her smile rapidly becoming even more unpleasant,

"Don't answer her. She looks chasind, that means there may be more." Alistair's voice was a low growl.

"Oh," The woman smirked, "You fear that barbarians will swoop down upon us!"

"Yes." he scowled, "Swooping is bad." Lessa's brows drew together and she stepped forward, breaking into the woman's next line of flowing speech,

"Hold there witch. I don't care for your riddles or assumptions so hold your tongue or I rekcon I'll remove it." The woman stopped scowling, "Your name'd be a start. You can call me Lessa."

"Morrigan."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Well…" The dark haired woman's face seemed to light from within, "That is a proper civil greeting, even here in the wilds."

"Aye well." Lessa nodded once again and Alistair found himself smiling admiringly: she was strong. Reliable. Formidable though, he prayed to the maker that they would strike a friendship, "We're looking for some documents, treaties…"

"I know that which you seek and they are here no longer."

Alistair cut in,

" 'here no longer' what does that mean? You stole them didn't you… you're some kind of sneaky witch thief!"

"And how does one steal from dead men, pray tell?"

"Enough." Lessa snarled, though at who was not clear, "Don't matter who took what from who, what matters is where. Morrigan, would you take us to the one who has these treatise. We need them."

An approving smile graced Morrigan's painted lips,

"Now that is a sensible question. I like you." She beckoned, "Follow me then, if it pleases you." She turned and seemed to fade into the undergrowth, Alistair placed a hand on Lessa's shoulder,

"Careful. First it's 'I like you' then- Bam-" he glowered darkly, "Frog time." A small, worn hand was placed over his,

"Peace friend. At least until we know we're at war."


	2. I am the leveller

"Wait, wait, wait." Alistair shook his head disbelievingly, "Do you seriously think we'd believe that you were expecting us?" The old woman laughed, looking at her daughter briefly with mirth in her eyes, Morrigan, for her part, simply nodded curtly,

"You are expected to do nothing. Least of all believe." Her piercing eyes found Lessa, locking onto her, "And what of you, stranger, you are new to these lands, does your woman's mind provide a different view? What do you believe?"

"I…" Alistair looked at her as she paused, clearly thinking about her answer, "I reckon I don't know what I believe. I always got told to expect nothing, that way you don't get disappointed, eh?" She finished her sentence in that strange way she had, an unanswerable question. The murky sunlight made her hair gleam, made the blood on her armour and weapons glitter.

"An answer that hold more wisdom than you realise." The old woman turned away as Alistair stood forward once again,

"Who are you?" his voice was clam, smooth, even though he was inwardly quivering with rage,

"Names are pretty, but useless and I have had many. The chasind people call me Flemeth. Call me that if you will."

"Flemeth? The Flemeth?!" Daveth's already reedy voice rose a few octaves as he back-peddled, nearly knocking Lessa to the ground. She, for her part, simply growled and pushed him away,

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" She looked at the three men, who regarded her as someone who had signed their own death warrant, her accent thickened as she spoke quickly, defensively, "Names are names. Plenty o' big names where I come from. Don't mean nothing' 'less you can back it up, eh? So who are you meant to be, old one? Sheog herself?"

'Flemeth' laughed, a real, rich laugh that came from the belly,

"Oh yes I know where you're from! I'd know that turn of phrase anywhere child." She wiped her eye, "And actually yes. That has been one of my names. I'm surprised one so young remembers me." She prowled towards a defiant Lessa, who crossed her arms, snorting derisively,

"Oh aye and I'm the king o' the fuckin' mountain."

"Oh! Now this is interesting," Flemeth leaned down, her nose inches from Lessa's, "You're the child who lived at the foot of Caelum, near the northern burgh. Yes I remember you," Flemeth stroked her face, smiling as the colour drained and Lessa's eyes widened, "Such a feisty little thing, even as a child. Tell me," Flemeth leaned in further, her lips next to the younger woman's ear, "are sins like yours ever forgiven?"

There was no reply, Lessa drew a shaky breath, her eyes wide, frantic, her knuckles white on the weapons handle. The old woman laughed and back away into her hut, returning shortly with a bundle of scrolls in her hands,

"Before you begin your barking," Flemeth addressed Alistair next, causing him to tear his eyes away from his new companion, "I have protected these, your precious seals wore off long ago. Now run along and tell your leaders that this war is not over, the blight will be worse than they fear."

"Thank you." The words were hoarse,

"Oh! Such manners! Always in the last place you look…" She scratched her head, "Like stockings!" Another laugh, "Oh don't mind me, you have what you came for!"

"Step forward." Duncan's sonorous voice dragged Lessa's eyes from, the now former, Ser Jory. Shaking her head partially at his cowardice and partially at her own, Lessa forced herself to step forward, catching Alistair's eye and giving him a mock salute before taking the goblet into her shaking hands and downing the liquid inside. Her body stiffened, it was like ice and fire, it seemed to slice and burn it's way through her veins, spreading outwards in a spiral of agony that reached directly for her brain. The burning consumed her eyes and the light began to drain from her world, tremors shook her body for but a moment before the pain intensified and she threw back her head, eyes rolling back into her skull as her face contorted, muscles straining in a wordless, silent scream.

_A roar began to resonate in her ears, growing louder and louder until it seemed ready to rend her muscles apart, to flay her alive. Before her trembling form stood a creature so great and terrible that she felt her bones would melt. Lessa stifled a groan of terror, standing firm despite her fear, her abject shaking. Around the feet of the great creature swarmed hundreds, no thousands of twisted creatures, their flesh greyish and swollen, as if filled with pus. Their guttural screams mingling with the howls of the creature. Even as her basic survival instincts took over, she felt awe at the creatures majesty, like the dragons that roamed her land, but larger and twisted in it's beauty. _

_But there was nowhere to run, even turning took an infinite amount of energy, like moving through treacle. _

"_I see you, little one.." the voice was like that of the great leveller death himself, like a carrion breath across her slick, clammy skin, "I see you and I know you. Your life will end, your world…your very world will crumble to dust and ashes, I will devour the good and bad together and bring your beautiful cities to ruin. You will never see home again." A deafening roar, "A poisonous blight will consume the circle of the world mile by mile, first Ferelden and then your precious homeland until the world is nought but a dark abyss slick with blood." Lessa began to weep, her strength deserting her, her will crumbling, "I will corrupt the very air so that each breath is a foul, dragging death rattle, I will rend each soul will pleasure…" Screaming, helpless screaming, "I am the leveller little one and there is nothing you can do to stop me."_

_The screaming continue, became louder and louder and-_

Louder.

Lessa sat upright, feeling sick to her stomach, feeling fear bite her ever nerve. A handsome face swam into view, one she did not recognise… or, no she did know this man. Alistair. Memory flowed back in a blessed wave of warmth, the youngest warden initiate. Insecure, yet capable, he smiled at her weakly,

"Thank God at least one of you survived. My joining was not so successful." He helped her to her feet, "Did you have dreams? I had terrible nightmares about-"

"Alistair. That's enough. The king wishes to see us."

"Oh, yes. I see, well there's one more thing to do." He smiled at her, holding up a small phial which was attached to a string of leather, "We take some of the blood and put it in this, so we don't forget the dead." Alistair handed her the phial and handed her the goblet, only a dribble was left in it, he must have caught it as I fell, she reflected.

"That I can relate to." The words left her mouth as soon as she thought them,

"Oh?" He tilted his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy,

"Aye." She drew a breath in through her nose, pushing back the face that haunted, "Where I come from the dead are important. Maybe more so that the living."

Alistair and Lessa stood together, already seeming to bond, Duncan reflected, smiling. It was nice that the boy had found someone to cling to other than him; he was so fragile, so lacking in confidence, where as this young woman was all steel balls and stiff upper lip. Perhaps they could learn from each other and find a happy medium, it was, he reflected, more likely that Alistair would simply end up in awe of a woman at least five years younger than him and she, for her part, would take the lead for him: rather than teaching him how to lead.

The blood seemed to sear her skin through, even through the phial, leaving Lessa feeling ill and clammy. The king was a tall, strapping young man with a loud, hearty laugh and a ready smile. As far as Lessa knew of leaders, all but one of these things were warning signs. The last man who had claimed the throne of her country that reminded her of King Cailan had been murdered within a month by the current king of her country. The current king was a wiry, scarred thug with an irrepressibly violent nature, a bad temper and a twisted mind. Also the king looked startlingly like Alistair. She shot a look at her new companion, noticing how tall he was, now that they were shoulder to shoulder.

"-send the new warden recruits." A low, sensuous voice broke her reverie, Alistair grimaced, opening his mouth slightly before shaking his head and evidently deciding it was better to keep his mouth shut.

"If that is what you wish, your highness." Duncan bowed his head,

"It is."

"So what, because the king wants two wardens up there holding the torch, we're not in the fight?" his ears turned red when he was angry, Lessa noticed, a smile playing her lips. She didn't give a shit about being in the battle, she'd been in enough to know that there was no glory in being another mans cannon fodder,

"Fine, but just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I'm not doing it." Alistair was practically gasping with exasperation, she laughed,

"I reckon you've got strange notions about your king warden." The laughter bubbled up her throat again, "But that's something I'd like to see."

"Well." He blushed, giving her a smile of shy liking, "Maybe for you," He put on a breathy lisping voice, playing up to the comedy aspect, "but it would have to be a pretty dress." They laughed, the laughter was perhaps a little too raucous, too loud for the joke, but in her experience, impending death made everything funny. Duncan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose ,

"You two best make your way to the tower of Ishal. The battle is about to start." The older man turned and began to walk away before Alistair shouted after him,

"Duncan." He furrowed his sandy brows, "Make watch over you."

"May he watch over us all."


	3. A little push

**I own nothing, I made no profit from this story. **

**I know this is a bit of an unusual take on this scene, but I thought I'd give it a go anyway. Thanks for your time guys!  
**

* * *

The tower of Ishal had been compromised, true, but hardly overrun, or so they had thought. Alistair had been more than a little shocked to see and ogre on the top floor. More so when Lessa let out a feral snarl and charged the thing, feet barely touching the ground until she used a chunk of fallen masonry to leap upon the ogre's back, wrapping one sinewy arm around the things neck, she drew a wicked looking dagger and proceeded to carve it like a chunk of meat. With seismic roar, the beast bucked, throwing it's cargo across the circular room, her flight broken only by the stone wall, before turning and lowering it's head, readying to charge.

"No you bloody don't." Alistair felt that flash of excitement, that buzz that made battle the single best thing in the world for him; slamming the hilt of his sword into his shield, he raised his voice, "You better consider firing up that staff, eh?" The young mage squealed as the monster lumbered towards them at speed, then squawked in surprise as Alistair ran towards it. The world slowed to crawl, his breath was loud, echoing, his heartbeat slow, powerful as he lowered himself, feeling the loss of control. Relishing it.

Sparks flew as his splint mail scraped along the stones, leaning back, Alistair watched the creatures horns pass him by and then thrust his sword up in a scything motion, feeling blood, hot and stinging, on his face, hands. The roar was just as loud as the last, but textured differently, this was a pained sound and, as the creature staggered under a crippling stone fist attack, Lessa used one of her worn hatchets as a pickaxe, climbing the creature until she was level with its face before dragging the small dagger from the side of its neck and plunging it into it's eye socket.

"Bloody hell!" He knew he sounded frustrated, chiding, but he couldn't help it. _Who charges a bleeding ogre? Makers knickers!_ "What in Andraste's name did you think you were doing?!"

"Giving you a push." Her eyes were inscrutable, so dark they seemed black, twinkling bewitchingly in the dim light, he almost turned away, then did a double-take,

"Yes well- Wait, what?!"

"You took charge, eh mate? Good for you." She stretched, drawing her body up, cracks ricocheting down her body, "All ye needed was a push." touching the back of her blond head, "A painful one."

"That is utterly ridiculous, I can lead perfectly well when it pleases me," he prodded her shoulder, "And I don't care for the insinuation that I need a young woman, who has barely joined the order to condition my behaviour for her own amusement."

"Ah, there they are!" She laughed, "There are the bones I thought were hiding somewhere under those big brown eyes and all that fluffy hair."

Alistair was baffled, she seemed pleased, not mocking. She was not being unkind then? Then why did he feel insulted? If what she said was true then she must think fairly highly of him, for someone who knew so little of him…. _That will certainly change, it always does._ But perhaps he should simply take her advice, change for the better and bask in the small compliments he was paid before she took the stance on him that everyone else seemed to. Likable, but weak, kind but naive. Those were the better terms. Some had simply abandoned him.

"I ain't trying to bring you down, just reckoned there might be more you can do. Don't wanta follow all your life, do you?"

They stared at each other for a few moments, a small, bashful smile began to creep across his face,

"Oh dear. I've made rather a fool of myself," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Forgive me? I was defensive and that was wrong, perhaps I should have realised that you meant well, but, well you frightened me a little."

"Well that wasn't the aim, honest." She held up her hands,_ look nothing here_, smiling sheepishly for a moment and then laughing. It was an infectious laugh and he found himself chuckling along. For a few seconds, they smiled at one another with shy liking before her face closed down again, frowning,

"Where's the beacon?"

"The beacon!" Panic, fear, embarrassment, "Oh maker, the beacon we have to get it lit, Loghain will be waiting for the signal-"

"Peace." A claming hand on his arm, a pointing finger "There's a torch."

Time passed in a blink and, suddenly, he was staring into the crackling fires of hope, the warmth on his face was strangely comforting. He was hungry, stressed, anxious n the extreme, covered in blood and bruises, aching in every bone…but at least he was warm. Ish.

"So what now?" That lilting, melodic voice broke his contemplation, "Do we join the battle?"

"Well yes I would assu-"

The heavy wooden doors flew open with a thundering crash, darkspawn poured through like blood from a gaping wound. The sound was deafening: angry, growling, throaty grunts, the scrape of steel on flagstones. The mage fell first under the axe of a particularly ugly genlock: its one eyes was milky blue, sharp teeth bared in a howl of pure bloodlust, its face contorted with hate, old scars puckering and bunching like grey snakes on its leathery flesh. A meaty sound was followed by a high yelp and he turned just in time to see Lessa fall, arrows embedded in the thick leather arm guard, her thigh and, worryingly, in the pit of her pale stomach. A Hurlock stood over her, leering, readying for the deathblow,

"No." The single word was all he could utter, the Hurlock fell under his sword: his body moving of its own volition, swinging gracefully to ram his shield against a charging genlock, back to his fallen comrade. A red mist was descending, cloaking his vision, "Come on you bastards! Come on!" A voice was screaming…it was him, he realised as a bone jarring blow took his knees from under him and his sword flew up to halve the face of a one of the blighters. Chaos, everywhere, he struggled to stand, he felt cold, so cold.

"Interesting." A grey haired woman stood in upon the crumbling masonry, looking in through a hole in the roof, "The warden is a berserker. A natural one too, fancy that. People are never what you expect." Her ageless face was hard and smooth as marble, she watched for a few moments as the boy fought the, seemingly endless, stream of darkspawn that crowded him. He took a dagger to the bicep. Time to intervene. Raising her arms, she felt the power surge through her body, hot and exciting,

"It has been long since I had such fun."

"Lessa?" Alistair growled, feeling for her hand, they were both on the ground now, the darkspawn were looking at something, perhaps and emissary, perhaps they were being rescued by the kings army. He doubted it. Probably the other ogre's brother come to sit on them, he laughed weakly; a high, maniacal sound that jarred his ears. He found her hand, turned to look at her, her eyes were closed, though she was breathing. They were going to die, but not alone. As a large shadow descended upon them, he reflected that it was a shame he did not know her better; she was so innocent looking in the dim firelight, despite the blood on her face. In fact perhaps because of it, her pale skin was, in truth far from smooth or creamy, but it was strangely infantile nonetheless, emphasising her dark hair and lashes, the size of her eyes. She was childlike… and he had failed her.

"I'm sorry-"

"Lessa!" He gasped into life once more, "Duncan? Ernart?" A grey haired woman stood from a small campfire and abandoned a bubbling pot of stew,

"Peace warden, you are safe here." She inclined her head slightly, "For now." He tucked that away under suspicious and worrying.

"Where are my companions? Where is Duncan?" The woman shook her head, eyes narrowed but otherwise unreadable,

"They are all gone. All but your inappropriately clothed friend. If she lives, she should be convinced to purchase better armour." The pain was all consuming, _all dead, all gone, my fault, I should have- could- never should have allowed. _So many thoughts clamoured in his head, screaming for his attention and then, at the back of his battered mind, there was one, small, despondent voice that simply repeated again and again,_ Alone again, all alone again._ A thought occurred to him,

"Innapro- Lessa?" A grain of hope cut through the cold like a ray of sunshine, heating him from within; it wasn't much, but it was something, "Can I see her?"


End file.
